“Work for a cause, not applause. Live life to express not to impress. Don’t strive to make your presence noted, just make your absence felt!”
Anonymous
AS A somewhat immature and geeky 10-year-old, I can tell you there was no greater sight all week than a rusty orange coloured Austin Allegro slowly making its way down our road as I had probably been standing at our gatepost for over an hour in giddy anticipation.
That excited expectancy was my equivalent to the modern-day Xbox, PlayStation, Disney channel, YouTube, Facebook all rolled into one.
In the 70s, the U12 football scene was the only show in town.
It was craved and appreciated as much as all the modern-day luxuries and hobbies put together.
In south Armagh and other rural communities then and now there are the four Fs – Family, Faith, Farming and Football.
I won’t put them in any particular order so as not to offend anyone but they all formed a part of our upbringing and have done so for many’s a day and hopefully will continue to do so.
The driver of that Allegro was a man called John Crawley who quietly epitomised all the characteristics of the Four Fs and as it turned out was to have the honour and privilege of being my first football coach. He left an indelible mark on myself and many others in his lifetime.
John packed us like sardines into the Allegro, sometimes up to 11 youngsters at a time.
That might sound like a complete health and safety nightmare but John balanced the overcrowding issue by not crossing the speed threshold of 30 miles an hour (ever).
It might have added to our discomfort but somehow it heightened our enthusiasm as well.
I never in all my life heard John raise his voice or criticise anyone or curse for that matter, which is unique in our part of the country.
So I wasn’t surprised to hear at his packed funeral in Lislea chapel on Monday when his younger brother, Canon Michael Crawley, in his eulogy said that he was the only sheepdog trainer that anyone knew of who never even raised his voice at the dog he was training.
As a committed farmer the only thing that could draw John away from the hay being stacked or the animals being tended to was to wile away so many hours driving us around the countryside with absolutely no anticipation of glory or more importantly thanks.
One game from that era which highlighted his unique temperament was a match against Killeavy.
I was playing full-forward and at half-time the score was 27-0 to the opposition.
As I made my way to the dressing room at half-time, absolutely disgusted and somewhat disillusioned as I had not yet received my first kick of the ball that day, I was greeted by John’s immortal words of “Jaysus boys, you’re doing awful well.”
Even more dissatisfied with John’s reading of how the first-half had gone, I enquired of him how he thought after not crossing the half-way line in 30 minutes and conceding nine goals could equate that with doing well.
He just replied: “ Ah, but Brendan, you have to remember that this time last year we would have been losing by about 50 points.”
If John had ever been concerned about scoreboards or results he would have had very little to do with our team.
His role was just simply to get as many young lads from our club playing the game he loved.
So it was no coincidence that a few years later that same team won an U14 league title, our first under-age medal in the club for 25 years.
John would never take any credit for it but that U12 team went on to be the most successful in the club’s history because credit and praise were alien concepts to what he sought from his loyalty and dedication to our club.
He literally saw the positive in everyone and everything.
From that day to the day I and many like me hung their boots up for Cuchulainn GFC, the only words we would have ever heard from his lips would have been positive and self-assuring allied with a genuine smile.
These are commodities that are unfortunately not common-place in modern society.
He served our club in as many roles as humanly possible that it might embarrass some like me, who class themselves as committed.
He held every position on committee to county board representative, club president, Scor, to an ever-present gate money collector.
It was practically inconceivable but that mild-mannered man also ended up being the club referee for many years also.
Every club function was attended and supported and even in recent years with failing health he was escorted by his wife, Anne, or one of his devoted daughters to our dinner dance.
Even though he quietly and unobtrusively made his way to his seat not seeking any fuss or commotion, you could feel the warmth of the room and quiet respect gravitate towards him.
It would be fair to say that I possess little of the characteristics that John purveyed.
I am loud, obtrusive and somewhat of an attention seeker, which if anything heightened my admiration of a man who gained popularity effortlessly without having to try at all.
I spoke to my old mate Rory McDonnell on Monday night after John’s funeral.
Rory also played on that U12 team and was also cramped into that famous Tardas of an Allegro.
We were trying to put our finger on what it was about our first gaelic coach that made him so popular and respected.
We came to the conclusion that there were no secret ingredients or grand gestures, just unwavering loyalty and dedication combined with an undeniable decency, which explains the massive crowd that turned up at his home and funeral in Lislea last week to pay their last respects to one of life’s true gentlemen.
Ar dheis De go raibh a anam.
